Some Things a Brother Just Doesn't Want to Know
by Unhobbity Hobbit
Summary: Good old sex pollen. Dean takes a hit and some quite severe sexual deviancy ensues. Gen with a side order of het.


A/N: Recently, people have been taking my perfectly innocent view of the show and completely Wincesting it up, so I decided to retaliate. I took a Wincesty cliche and made it gen! With added het! Ha! (Yeah, I'm five)

There Are Some Things a Brother Just Doesn't Want to Know

Considering what they did, it wasn't surprising that their life occasionally played out like a bad horror movie. Having said that, this situation was still pushing the boundaries between what should be real and what should be fiction. Dean had already spent a good half an hour boggling over how surreal this gig was. They were used to surreal, they could do surreal, but this was _surreal_. They were going after a mad scientist.

Well, to be more specific, they were going after a mad botanist. Which was even weirder. 'Mad botanist' wasn't even one of Dean's ridiculous over-dramatisations; he really was mad. Super-villain kind of mad; he even _cackled_. He was certain that he was going to be able to take over the world with an army of plants. _Plants_. He was dead set on the plant thing; sneered at Dean's idea of tigers with lasers. Sam took it upon himself to point out that neither was going to work and that if Dean was going to give the mad botanist a black eye over the subject, he was about on a par with the botanist in terms of sanity.

The botanist ended up with a black eye anyway, which was nobody's fault but his own. Flying at them, fists a-flailing was hardly the best plan of action and just another reason he was never going to be a great threat to world freedom. Sam did feel a small pang of guilt when they left him tied to a chair to go burn his life's work, but then he yelled something about avenging them with his killer ferns and Sam couldn't hold his laughter back.

"This guy's nuts," said Dean as they made their way down into the basement where the plans were, picking their way around overflowing plant pots.

"Your powers of observation astound me," Sam replied, but Dean wasn't listening, he was far too busy trying to make it down the stairs without tripping on a vine and breaking his neck. They made it to the bottom in one piece only to find that the filing cabinet – the one with all of the botanist's work that they had to burn – was on the far side of the basement.

They had to make it past all kinds of specimens that the Dr. Frankenstein of the plant world had taken upon himself to create. They had to duck vines that were dangling from the ceiling, which looked harmless at a glance but were swaying slightly, despite there not being any kind of breeze in the room. Sam and Dean also gave the human-sized Venus flytrap a wide berth. Dean stopped briefly to stare in disgust at a flower doing its best imitation of a woman with her legs spread. It wasn't that Dean had anything against women with their legs spread, just that a plant trying to get in on the action was just plain wrong.

"This guy's more twisted than I thought."

"Let's just burn it and get out." They hurried on through the goddamned longest basement in the world. Their senses were assaulted by all kinds of smells, from the downright revolting that had the both of them gagging, to the fragrance that was entrancing to the point of being irresistible and Dean had to drag Sam onwards to stop him trying to dig through the leaves to find out where it was coming from.

They finally reached the pretty mundane filing cabinet that held the botanist's evil master plans and quickly doused it – and the surrounding plants – in gasoline.

"You ready?" said Dean, fishing a book of matches out of his pocket, "I don't think the plants'll be happy when we set them alight." Sam nodded. Dean lit the book and dropped it onto the filing cabinet. Almost immediately a screech went up from a dense patch of branches to their right and suddenly the whole room was in motion.

Sam and Dean threw themselves into the writhing mass of leaves and vines that were blocking their only way out. They kept their heads down and pushed through, wondering why they hadn't thought to bring a machete. Sam's arm was caught by what looked like a bramble, which then tried to wrap itself further around his arm and drag him in, but he managed to pull himself free before it really dug its thorns in.

Just as the end came into sight, Dean was caught over the head by a particularly fast-moving vine, which sent him flying at the indecently-posed flower, just his luck. He landed on his hands and knees with the 'legs' either side of him and face to face with an almost impressively anatomically correct part of the female body. You know, if you ignored the teeth. Jesus Christ, who comes up with something like that? This guy was beyond nuts.

Dean jumped up and then stared in horror as the woman-flower-thing _moved_. It lashed out and grabbed him, pulling him closer; it was damn strong. It leant its 'face' – the least human part of the whole thing – towards him and then breathed bright pink spores onto his face. Sam grabbed the coughing and spluttering Dean around the waist and hauled him out of the clutches of the flower and towards the stairs. Dean got himself back together and pushed Sam up the stairs in front of him.

They got to the top of the stairs and finally out of the basement. The plants here were all thankfully immobile and made no protest over being shoved out of the way so Sam could close the door. The boys then took some time out to get over and try to come to terms with what had just happened. Sam was considering just writing it all off as some weird dream. That seemed far more plausible than the whole thing actually being real.

Dean wiped his face clean of the pink stuff as best he could, but aside from making him look stupid and sneeze a few times, it didn't seem to have done anything to him. Dean was far more interested in the gashes in Sam's arm. Sam yanked his arm back, because Dean's examination was hardly the most gentle.

"Dude, it's fine, just a couple of scratches."

"Could be poisoned." Sam took a closer look at his arm, checking for any redness or swelling or general discolouration of the skin. There wasn't any.

"It looks fine, can we just leave? I'll tell you if I feel like I'm going to faint."

"If you feel like you're going to faint, sit down, 'cause I'm not gonna catch you."

"Sure you won't, Dean." Sam smirked as he pushed off from the wall he was leaning against and started back towards the front door and outside and the Impala, where things were slightly less batshit insane. He was so far beyond ready to put this whole thing behind him and thanked God that they'd come out of it relatively unscathed.

Later, Sam berated himself; he should really stop thinking things like that, it's only asking for trouble.

Still, for all of twenty minutes things really were less batshit insane in the Impala, in fact, they were downright normal. Dean put some music on and drove near enough the speed limit to be considered legal, while Sam slumped in his seat and let his mind wander. For another ten minutes after that, the only sign that the weirdness of the situation might be increasing was Dean shifting in his seat, which, truth be told, wasn't much of a sign and so Sam ignored it.

Only when Dean started full on fidgeting did Sam start to pay attention. He glanced over when Dean swore softly under his breath and adjusted himself in his seat again.

"You okay, man?"

"Just peachy."

"You look flushed. You sure that plant didn't do something to you?" Dean made an indistinct noise in reply and shifted again, looking uncomfortable. Sam stared at Dean but Dean very determinedly kept his eyes forward and wouldn't look over at Sam. Sam eventually had enough of Dean avoiding him and just leaned over and put his hand to Dean's forehead. He probably would have thought better of this course of action had he known that it would cause Dean to swerve so badly that they ended up driving on the sidewalk for a good fifty yards or so.

"Jesus Christ! Don't touch me!" yelped Dean as he wrested the car back onto the road. Luckily their hotel was just around the corner, else Sam would have had serious problems with Dean driving in the state he was in.

"What the hell was that, Dean?" but Dean was back to ignoring him, which Sam would usually have objected to, but he thought that for the moment, it was probably best if Dean just concentrated on safely parking the car. Dean managed to find a parking space and successfully slotted the car into it. He turned the ignition off and shifted in his seat again, with a troubled look on his face. He glanced at Sam before he opened his door and climbed out. Sam was baffled by Dean's behaviour and watched him, sincerely hoping whatever the plant had done (because it had obviously done something) was reversible.

Then, as Dean shut the driver's side door, one part of his anatomy became all too clear to Sam. Sam scrambled out of the car.

"Dean, you've--"

"I know!" Dean interrupted. "I'm attached to it aren't I?"

"You think the plant did that?"

"Yes! I don't make a habit of randomly getting hard-ons during the day, you know!" Sam glanced around to check that the parking lot was still empty, because Dean had said that quite loudly. "Here, you lock up," said Dean and threw Sam the keys before heading off to their room at a pace that was somewhere between a brisk walk and a jog. Sam locked the car and followed after.

When he got to their room, the bathroom door was already shut and the shower on. Sam settled down on one of the beds with his laptop, because really, this wasn't _too_ different from any other night. And, frankly, his brother having to spend some quality time in the shower wasn't such a large price to pay.

Yeah, Sam still hadn't learned his lesson.

Half an hour passed and the shower had been turned off, but Dean still hadn't emerged. Sam had taken a leaf out of Dean's book and was playing his music loudly, because if there were any noises coming out of that bathroom he really didn't want to hear them. It had been half an hour though; Sam was starting to get worried.

"Dean?" he called over the top of the music, "You okay in there?" He didn't get any reply so he turned the music off. "Dean?" he tried again. Dean made a noise that was either a half-hearted yell of frustration or a-- no, no it was definitely a yell of frustration. "Is everything all right?" There was a moments pause before Dean replied.

"No." It was a good thing Sam had turned the music off because Dean was very quiet.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't... Sam, it won't... Jesus, Sam! Don't make me say it!" Sam couldn't help the smirk creeping onto his face. Sure, he could tell that it was a pretty nasty situation for Dean, but he wasn't Dean, so it was actually pretty funny.

"You've forgotten how to masturbate?" The bathroom door flew open and there was Dean, fully clothed and zipped up and everything, but still unavoidably _there_.

"No, I haven't _forgotten_," said Dean, "It's just not _working_."

"It looks like it's _working_ from here," said Sam gleefully.

"Shut the fuck up." One of Dean's hands was gripping the door frame so hard his knuckles were white, while the other flexed and every so often seemed to jerk in the direction of Dean's fly. Sam so did not want to think about what those hands had just been doing.

"Maybe you weren't thinking about the right thing?"

"That's really not an issue right now."

"Well, obviously it _is._" Sam waved a hand in Dean's general direction.

"No, it's not that. I can... well, I can get onto the home straight but when it comes to the big finish it just... _won't_."

"It won't?"

"It won't. Seriously, I must have lost like, ten layers of skin already." Sam balked at that thought. He could handle the idea of Dean doing... _things_, he could just about live with all the bad metaphors Dean could come up with, but really, that was just too much detail. Sam blinked rapidly, effectively ridding himself of any and all images.

"So the plant kills by sexual frustration?" A change of subject seemed like a good idea.

"No, I think you're supposed to fuck the plant... oh God..." Dean's face took on a more horror-filled quality.

"What is it?"

"Fucking the plant is sounding like a really good idea right about now."

"Think about something else!"

"I can't!"

"Pastor Jim!" Sam wasn't sure what made him think of their dead friend, but Pastor Jim was almost certainly the least sexual guy they knew. Sam certainly couldn't imagine anything of that nature in relation to him.

"Oh, Sam, you did not just say that."

"Why not?"

"Now fucking Pastor Jim is looking like a good idea!"

"_Dean!_"

"I can't help it!" whined Dean. His leg was now jiggling nervously, and he was carefully looking everywhere that wasn't at Sam. Sam thought he might have an idea why and really did not want to test the theory.

"How about a dead goat?" Something weird happened with Dean's face as it simultaneously tried to flush red and drain of all colour.

"Why? Why the fuck would you say that, Sam?"

"Okay! Okay! Uh, the six times table?"

"You're trying to go for the least sexy number and you pick a _six_?"

"The five times table, then."

"You are not helping, Sam."

"What? The _five times table_?"

"Yeah, it's kinda like the five is going through each of the other numbers, isn't it?"

"Dean, did you just make the number five sound like a slut?" Dean closed his eyes and groaned.

"Yeah, I think I did."

"Right, what's seven add eight?" Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again before whispering something too quiet for Sam to hear. "Dean?" Sam prompted. Dean sighed, resigned to whatever was going to come out of his mouth next.

"An orgy," he said reluctantly. "Can we not do math any more? It's not helping." Sam nodded and tried to think of a solution to their, well, Dean's problem. He came to a conclusion he'd never thought he'd come to.

"We need to get you laid." Dean's knees honest-to-God buckled. He only remained upright because he was already hanging onto the door frame.

"Christ, Sammy!" said Dean, clinging to the wall while he waited for his legs to become a little more solid. "Warn me before you say shit like that!"

Before long they were heading back out to a bar, Dean with a newspaper, which was doing a fairly good job of covering up... Dean junior, as long as no one took the time to really examine him. Sam said as much to Dean, which got him a good hard kick in the shin for bringing up the notion of someone examining Dean. Okay, so Sam deserved that; he _had_ only said it to wind Dean up.

Dean agreed to let Sam drive, seeing as how his right hand seemed to have developed a nervous twitch and that he was very easily distracted – more so than usual. The majority of the car ride was spent in silence; Dean wasn't willing to risk any music because of the lyrics, as well as the whole 'music is the food of love' thing and one thing Dean's love did not need was feeding. Sam didn't feel like saying much because, frankly, being trapped in a car with his incredibly turned on brother made him feel a little awkward.

Dean stared out of his window and when Sam glanced over he could see his jaw working. Dean's hand started rubbing the leather of the seat, back and forth, back and forth. Sam could see it out of the corner of his eye and found it really distracting. Then Dean made a small grunting noise and Sam decided to put a stop to that right now, because awkward silences were all very well and good, but he couldn't handle an awkward silence being broken by Dean's _noises_.

"Dude, are you being turned on by the car?" Dean's hand stopped its movement.

"There's a whole world of things I'd rather be turned on by the car than." True, but then there was a whole world of things Sam would rather Dean be turned on by than the car. Starting with something he wasn't sitting in. "Oh God." Sam shot a worried glance Dean's way. "Oh God, oh no, please no."

"What is it?"

"I thought about one of those things I'd rather not be turned on by."

"What did you think about?" Sam asked with a sense of dread.

"Dad," Dean choked out, and there were a few seconds of shocked silence before Dean started yelling. "Sam! Sam, quick! Give me something else to think about! Fuck! Quick! Now!" Sam said the first thing that came into his head.

"A donkey!" Why that was the first thing that came into his head was a complete mystery.

"What is it with you and fucking animals? Give me a fucking human to think about!"

"Pamela Anderson!" Dean relaxed back into the seat almost immediately.

"Thank fuck," he sighed. Sam silently agreed with that sentiment. Sure, it was still awkward as hell, but slightly less so knowing that Dean was thinking about a real live woman, rather than the car... or their dad.

Sam parked in front of the nearest bar he could find (which was still ridiculously far away) and practically leapt out of it. Beer seemed like the only way he'd possibly be able to come out of this night with any amount of sanity intact. Dean, too, was raring to go, so to speak. Sam hoped they could sort all this out nice and quick because he was running out of euphemisms.

Sam headed straight for the bar and ordered himself a beer, at least, that had been the plan. He ended up more meandering to the bar, making sure Dean didn't collapse completely upon entering a room full of quite so many people. Good thing it wasn't a Friday night, really.

Leaning on each table as he passed, Dean finally managed to make his way onto a bar stool. Sam joined him with great relief and ordered them both a beer. He only got one for Dean because anything was better than watching him rub every single surface with this strange slowness, like he was pleasuring it or something. Dean was watching everyone else in the bar as if they were his prey, which was not going to be a good way to pull them. However, the moment his beer arrived, Dean snatched it up and went off in search of someone willing to... well, someone willing.

Sam had barely even taken two gulps by the time Dean came back with a large red hand print on his cheek.

"Maybe you want to try being a little less desperate?" suggested Sam. Dean only took a swig of his beer, glancing briefly at Sam, then headed off in search of someone else. He'd got control of himself a little bit because Sam managed to get just over halfway through his bottle before Dean came back with an even redder cheek.

Dean never said anything after returning from these ventures – he had seven in total, all ending the same way.

"Wow, you may as well get 'slap here' tattooed on your cheek." Dean whimpered, then lowered his head to rest on his arm.

"Please don't say that word."

"Which word?"

"Well, 'slap', 'cheek', but mostly 'tattoo'."

"Tattoo?" a small shiver ran over Dean, but there was nothing else showing that he'd heard. "I didn't know you had a tattoo kink." Dean raised his head wearily and looked at Sam.

"I think I've got every kink there has ever been." Sam snorted.

"Does that mean you've got, like, a woolly mammoth kink?" Dean just looked at Sam for a few moments before he had to close his eyes.

"Well, I have now! Jesus, Sammy." Dean stared hard at the bar, doing that disturbing caressing thing, even though he had a beer.

"Dude, are you thinking about the bar?" Sam decided to hold his beer because he wanted as little as possible to do with anything Dean was thinking about.

"Would it make you uncomfortable if I was?" Dean asked. Sam's complete avoidance of the question by taking a gulp of beer was a good enough answer for Dean. Dean grinned. It was one of those grins that never meant anything good for Sam.

"What is it?" Sam asked, already knowing he wasn't going to like the answer. Dean's gaze flicked downward, then back up at Sam.

"I never noticed how nice your shoes are before now." Dean licked his lips.

"You are not thinking about my shoes." Dean's gaze lingered on Sam's shoes, even though Sam tried to move them out of sight. Dean had a strange half-smile on his face and caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Oh, I really am," he said in a weird, breathy tone. Sam's lower body was now twisted completely away from Dean to get his shoes as far away as possible.

"Stop thinking about my shoes!" Dean's face dropped into deadly seriousness.

"Only if you stop talking about animals."

"Okay! Yes! Whatever, just stop it!" Dean looked away from Sam's shoes and up at a passing woman. Though any human being would probably have passed Dean's significantly lowered standards.

"Okay, I've stopped."

"You've tried her already, haven't you?" Dean sighed regretfully and then tore his eyes away, fixing on the nearer target of a woman sitting further down the bar. He sidled up to her in a way that was neither subtle, nor smooth and proceeded to say something – something Sam was very glad not to be able to hear – that got him yet another slap. Other cheek this time, though.

Instead of coming back to Sam, however, Dean stayed there. The woman pushed him away but he moved closer and Sam decided it was time to stop him before he went and did something he'd regret.

"Dean!" he called and Dean partially turned to face him, his expression part 'help me!', but mostly just incredibly horny, then turned back towards the woman. The woman stood up and Dean did too. Sam covered the distance between them in two long strides and grabbed Dean's arm. Dean stiffened immediately and the woman chose the moment to make herself scarce.

"Let go of me, Sammy," said Dean in a barely controlled voice. Sam noticed how he was shaking and let go as if he were electrified.

"Dean? Are you...?"

"I'm going to the toilet," Dean said without looking at him and then strode away to the men's room. Sam was shaken by Dean's actions; mind whirling over what could have happened had he not been there as he sat back down with his beer.

He wasn't sat down for long. Maybe thirty seconds after Dean went in, the men's door burst open and Dean stumbled backwards out of it, followed by one very large man, his face a picture of hatred and disgust.

"You perverted fuck!" the man shouted, shoving Dean. Dean moaned at the contact, loud enough for half the bar to hear and it enraged the guy even further. Sam leapt to his brother's aid, not quite in time to block the punch to Dean's face, but soon enough to stop the guy doing anything while Dean was down. Hopefully Dean wasn't out for the count, because the huge guy had friends. Equally huge friends.

Sam heard Dean climbing to his feet behind him and kneed the big guy in the stomach. While the guy was recovering he backed towards Dean and held the car keys out behind him.

"Go get in the car, Dean, quick!" Dean took the keys, whimpering when their hands brushed and then legged it out of there, at a considerably slower pace than he'd usually manage. Sam was caught off guard when one of big guy's friends punched him in the face and sent him reeling into a table. He used the momentum to push himself off and towards the door because now seemed like a really good time to be leaving.

He broke out into the cold night air to find Dean only just climbing into the passenger's side of the Impala. Sam quickly got in the driver's side and Dean slid the keys to him across the seat. He peeled out of the parking space with a squeal of tyres and sped down the road, only relaxing when it looked like they weren't being followed.

"What the hell did you do, Dean?" Sam glanced over at Dean, but Dean had his whole body angled away from him and was rhythmically banging his head against the window.

"I'm gonna die, Sam. If I don't... you gotta..." Dean glanced at him over his shoulder, then quickly looked away again. "I'm gonna die."

"No you're not, it's not physically-" Dean whimpered, "-possible for you to die of _that_."

"I am, Jesus, Sammy, I'm going to die. I just need to... fuck, I just need to come. Fucking hell, _please_. Just... fuck, fuck, fuck." That became his mantra, repeated under his breath in time with banging his head against the window.

Right, that was it. Where the hell was the red light district in this town? Luckily (because _something_ had to go right today, didn't it?) it was a big enough town to actually have one, but not so big that it was hard to find.

Sam pulled up to the kerb and a woman dressed in the proper hookerly fashion came up to the window Dean still had brains enough to wind down. Sam leant forward enough to be able to see her. Her gaze flicked over the two of them, pausing on Dean for a long moment, before she spoke to Sam.

"Don't do threesomes." Dean practically convulsed, earning him another look.

"No, no, just him." He nodded towards Dean and the woman took another good, long look at him.

"Is he... all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine, he's just..." Sam's mind completely blanked out on anything that could possibly explain his brother's behaviour, "He's fine."

"Well, what's he want? Handjob'll be--"

"Anything, fuck, I don't care," Dean interrupted. The time for talking was apparently over, so Sam made himself scarce. As the prostitute climbed into the car, he climbed out and made his getaway as quick as possible.

But not quick enough.

"_Fuck yes!_" came the shout from the car that was so loud Sam probably would have heard it even if he'd managed to get two blocks away. He paused, turned to see the prostitute climbing back out of the car and slowly made his way back. He sat in the drivers seat a moment while Dean dragged himself into the back seat where he could more successfully flop. Sam then put the car into drive and slowly and carefully pulled away and started back towards their hotel. He felt numb. He was in shock. He had totally _not_ just heard his brother orgasm.

"Dean? Is everything okay now?" He was answered by a yawn and a sleepy whisper.

"Never again." Sam didn't get any better answer than that because Dean dropped straight into sleep, as evidenced by his snores. Probably a good thing.

Sam rolled down a window, despite the freezing night air rushing by. First thing tomorrow, Dean was going to disinfect the whole car. Starting with the front seat because, dude, gross.

The End.

Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
